


Find Me in the Matinee (The Dark of the Matinee)

by beetle



Category: Rogue One: A Star Wars Story (2016), Star Wars - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe - Coffee Shops & Cafés, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Alternate Universe - No Powers, Awkward Flirting, Awkwardness, Banter, Baze is . . . NOT, Boys Kissing, Chirrut's Kind of a Hipster, Chirrut's a Playah, Confessions, Dirty Talk, Dom/sub Undertones, First Dates, First Kiss, First Love, First Meetings, Groping, Happy Ending, Humor, Light Smut, Love Confessions, M/M, Meet-Cute, Mutual Pining, Nervousness, Opposites Attract, Public Display of Affection, Saved by a judicious helping of Smut, Sorta-Virgin Baze, Vulnerability, irredeemable fluff, spiritassassin
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-09-09
Updated: 2017-09-09
Packaged: 2018-12-25 19:30:24
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,438
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12042702
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/beetle/pseuds/beetle
Summary: On their first date, lonely, gun-shy twenty-somethings Baze Malbus and Chirrut Îmwe . . . go to a movie matinee.Chirruttalks-up a staple Hollywood classic toBaze, and somehow, the date—and life thereafter—goes quickly, steadily sideways. Which may have been therightway to go, all along. Written for a prompt but inspired by theFranz Ferdinandsong of the same title. Prompt in end notes.





	Find Me in the Matinee (The Dark of the Matinee)

**Author's Note:**

  * For [littleleotas](https://archiveofourown.org/users/littleleotas/gifts).



> Notes/Warnings: Modern AU, first date-cute. Banter, fluff, humor, romance, a little smut and dirty-talk. Light stuff.

“ _Wow_. Be still, my beating _heart_ —you look _fantastic_!”

 

Baze Malbus—sweaty, stolid, and melting, in the hot, heavy, aggressive sun that beat down on a narrow, deserted side-street, where stood a tiny, dilapidated independent cinema—started and spun around, immediately surfacing from his distracted musings.

 

Standing right behind him in the same oppressive sun, but looking bright, chipper, and fresh—practically glowing with good health, good humor, and good _ness_ —was his date. Almost exactly on time, too, though Baze himself had, as ever when keeping appointments, arrived at least a quarter of an hour early.

 

And considering how ridiculously nervous and restless he’d been since he’d woken from an unhelpful night’s sleep—and all the way through his strenuous, but satisfying construction job, to this early afternoon movie-date—the fact that Baze had managed to only show up _fifteen minutes earlier_ than even his usual quarter-of-an-hour-early, was astounding.

 

“I . . . uh . . . I do?” he asked belatedly, somewhat bemused and far too flustered to wonder at a blind man giving that particular compliment. Baze was just unused to his looks being complimented, at all. In fact, he couldn’t remember his looks _ever_ being singled-out for good or ill, in his twenty-three years. He was ordinary-looking, with regular, if dour features, that few ever gave a first glance at, let alone a second. So, he was truly baffled. But a moment after his stammered surprise at the compliment, it hit him that he might have . . . insulted his date, somehow, and he flushed. The spike in temperature on an already hot day was unpleasant, but not as unpleasant as the fear that he might have already tanked this long-awaited outing. “I mean, uh . . . what I _meant_ was, um—”

 

“You’ve turned my brown eyes blue, with your hella-fine self, hot-stuff,” Chirrut Îmwe assured Baze with ease, lightly, but somehow sincerely, too. He winked, then fluttered his dark lashes around wide, unseeing eyes the color of a spring sky after a gentle rain. Those eyes seemed to be staring directly and appreciatively at Baze, who flushed even deeper. But he didn’t bother to fight his sudden and rare smile, or the chuckle that followed. “I could look at you all day as my jay-oh-bee, and _still_ stare at you some more in my off hours, for free.”

 

Baze snorted and rocked back and forth on his heels and toes, looking Chirrut over. Despite being blind, he was dressed far more nattily than Baze was, in his comfy, old jeans, an unbranded, black t-shirt . . . shod in scuffed-black work-boots, and with his ordinary-brown, past-shoulder-length hair in an indifferent man-bun.

 

 _Chirrut’s_ short, crow-dark hair rested against the smooth curve of his head in a suggestion of a wave. His outfit of button-down white shirt (sleeves unbuttoned and rolled up), a light-weight tan vest, a pair of slinky-sexy, heather-gray skinny-jeans, and black Converse All-Stars with cherry-red laces, was perfectly quirky and effortlessly cool. It seemed designed to accentuate the smaller man’s graceful lines and compact muscularity. His boyish-puckish face was turned attentively up toward Baze’s, his clever-mobile mouth curved in a small smile, his plush, pale-pink lips slightly parted as if waiting to speak. Or to be kissed. For a few moments, Baze had to fight to remember what came after _exhale_. “You’re, uh . . . you’re looking pretty, um, fantastic, yourself. Really. Um. Like, I’m not good at, uh, compliments. But even if I _was_ , I still wouldn’t be good _enough_ to tell you how, uh . . . anyway. You look very nice, Chirrut.”

 

Chirrut’s smile deepened, pretty-pleased and stunning, and he tilted his head a bit to the left. His regard of Baze, and wondering consideration was obvious. Those round, mesmerizing eyes were unerringly on Baze’s muddy-dark ones.

 

“Well. Just when I thought you couldn’t possibly get any _more_ adorable and endearing, Baze Malbus—charming as all get-out—you ask someone to hold your beer, and Leeroy Jenkins the _shit_ outta proving me wrong.” Chirrut’s straight, dark brows seemed to wiggle, telegraphing a warm chuckle the moment before it happened. “Kudos, manly.”

 

Baze’s face felt like a five alarm-fire and he actually scuffed the cracked pavement in front of the cinema with his right boot, just like some nervous, twitterpated character in an old cartoon. He looked down, away from that too-seeing gaze and cleared his throat, wishing it was less grossly hot, so _he could feel_ less grossly hot. He was pretty certain he could wring the sweat out of his t-shirt without too much effort, were he to make the attempt.

 

After instinctively drawing in his brawny shoulders rather defensively and scowling down at his own big, wide feet, Baze got the surprise of his life a half-minute later, when Chirrut made a fond, clucking sort of sound and took Baze’s left arm companionably. As if he’d been doing so for years.

 

“You’re nervous,” Chirrut observed, his wiry arms warm and reassuring around Baze’s solidly muscular one. When Baze managed to meet that spring-blue gaze again, he was instantly trapped in its intent, but solemn warmth and affection. Chirrut’s brows wiggle-waggled a bit, but there was no laugh, just a soft sigh. “I get that. So am I, actually, underneath my laidback and ironic exterior. It’s not often that I expect or even want a date to go as well as I hope—and think—this one will. So, yeah. I get being nervous. But lemme let you in on a little secret.” Chirrut leaned into Baze and bounced up on his toes a bit, even as Baze also leaned closer and in and down, as if to hear even a slight whisper. With that pretty-pleased-clever smile deepening _and_ widening, Chirrut bounced up a bit higher and bussed the left corner of Baze’s mouth, lingering for a few moments—in a heady waft of scent that was lily-pure, incense-holy, and musk-primal—while Baze remained frozen.

 

“You’ve had me on the ropes since five seconds after the very first time you said _hello_ to me, Baze Malbus, so _nerves_ are laughably unnecessary. Charming and _adorbs as fuck_ . . . but unnecessary,” Chirrut whispered on Baze’s mouth, ensnaring him in sweet, sensual ghostings of softness, and magnetic jolts of pure, electric-right _feeling_ , with every light brush of his lovely lips.

 

It wasn’t until Chirrut began to reluctantly move away, settling back on his feet, that Baze’s amygdala, sick of his neocortex’s dithering and nerves, acted. He placed his rough, square hands on Chirrut’s trim waist and held the other man close again, his grasp possessive, but restrained. He leaned down into another press of lips, this one slightly shifted so the kiss was dead-center. Chirrut huffed a small, surprised sound from his nose that transitioned thrillingly into a hungry, delicious moan, as he intensified the kiss further, then parted his soft lips.

 

Baze rumbled and did the same, flicking his tongue out to taste those lips . . . they were sweet-sharp, like peppermint candy, and faintly salty. So perfectly and tantalizingly _addictive_ in a way Baze had never experienced, let alone so instantly.

 

Chirrut’s tongue, clever and teasing, met his in a flirty tickle as Chirrut’s left hand came up to cup Baze’s stubbly cheek and jaw, with a tenderness and reverence that made _Baze Malbus_ go melty and quivering on the inside. And possibly the outside, too. Even as Chirrut’s right hand settled on the modest curve of Baze’s ass, then grasped with a possessiveness and restraint that matched Baze’s hands on his waist.

 

Though _Chirrut’s_ restraint soon fled for less exasperating and recalcitrant locales. Which left him gripping Baze’s ass _tight_ , anchoring in firm muscle, and squeezing and humming with happy discovery and encouragement, as their kiss deepened and intensified. It quickly became the sort of mutually-devouring, make-out meltdown Baze’d rarely engaged in even in high school.

 

By the time the meltdown was ended by Chirrut’s breathless, huffed swearing and Baze’s overwhelmed light-headedness—and his vague, nagging suspicion that if they didn’t stop soon, they’d both wind up in County for public indecency or something like that—they were both half-hard and not exactly shy about that fact.

 

“Hmmm,” Chirrut hummed again, his pale eyes wide and dreamy, his kiss-swollen lips so pretty, pink, and _perfect_ that Baze _had to_ lean in for another kiss. It was really just a desperate press and brush of those lips, but still, it set Baze’s entire body afire . . . made him hold Chirrut tighter and closer and more desperately.

 

He was unused to the sort of kamikaze desire that was swamping him in totality. A bit frightened and nonplussed by the burning _need_ to have Chirrut in his arms and in his bed—gasping and writhing and moaning against him and _because of him_ —that had so suddenly become more than just an almost academic appreciation of a fascinating, charming, gorgeous man. For though Baze’d enjoyed sex, after a fashion, the few times he’d had it, he hadn’t missed it when he _wasn’t_ having it. Not at all, in fact, in the past two years since an awkward three-night stand with a cute, curly-haired girl that he’d liked quite a bit . . . but had been almost completely indifferent to, sexually. A fact which she’d quickly divined then kindly, but firmly moved on from, before a fourth night could happen.

 

This . . . this moment with Chirrut, was so far beyond the middling distraction of previous sexual encounters, that Baze was utterly lost. Lost in it and because of it and _for_ it. Completely a slave to it, and his physical and emotional craving for it, even after a single kiss and some tentative groping.

 

“ _Wow_ ,” Chirrut breathed shakily when Baze leaned back to catch his breath and collect himself. Or made a valiant attempt to. He could only manage a winded grumble and Chirrut giggled a bit, his face flushed and unexpectedly vulnerable. _Young_. Baze realized that he didn’t know how old the other man was. From the first time he’d seen Chirrut, Baze’d assumed that Chirrut was about his age, or perhaps a year or two older. But in this moment, he looked barely legal to do— _anything_ , never mind what they were doing in the middle of the sidewalk in broad daylight. Baze had to close his eyes on such an affecting sight. “Wowie-wowie- _wow_. You’re _tasty_.”

 

“I . . . oh. _Oh_ , I. . . .” fell uselessly and tellingly from Baze’s tingling, throbbing lips. He opened his eyes again and stared down into Chirrut’s, still so lost and flustered. He knew nothing, anymore, only that he _wanted_. Wanted _so much_ . . . so many things he didn’t even know the name of, let alone the feel.

 

“Y’know, my goal in kissing you was purely to get the whole awkward, anticipatory first-kiss outta the way, banish some of our nerves and shyness—cut to the chase. Um . . . I figured it’d be, ah, pretty memorable. Kissing you, that is. Kinda didn’t expect our very _first_ kiss to be the best kiss of my life, though.” Chirrut blinked, then his dreamy smile turned wry and somber-sad. Ancient, and made more so by the contrast of his boyish, beautiful face and those shining eyes. “I mean, not the _first_ kiss, right? When is the first kiss _ever_ the perfect one? _Never_ , that’s when. Except, uh . . . except when it is, apparently.” He snorted, sardonic and bemused. “Of course, my expectations for each _successive_ kiss are quite a bit higher, now.”

 

Baze’s hands slid around from Chirrut’s waist to his ass, where they clenched gently, and with hesitant possessiveness. The heated flicker in Chirrut’s eyes and the soft, yearning groan that escaped his lips was _very_ encouraging. “You . . . you’ve, uh, been imagining kissing me?”

 

“Almost constantly, yes. Especially while in the shower. For the past few months, I’ve . . . never been cleaner—and _dirtier_ —in my life. And that’s, ah, saying something.” Those dark, serious brows waggled again, and Baze grinned and blushed. “I could go into detail that’d make your distant ancestors blush, regarding the things I’ve imagined us doing, Baze Malbus. I would _happily_ tell you _and_ show you just what I’ve been imagining since you asked to share my table at _Saint Alps Teahouse_ , three months ago. I’d show you till you couldn’t walk right for two days after. . . .”

 

“ _Chirrut_ ,” Baze groaned, his eyelids fluttering shut as he leaned down, until his perspiring, overheated forehead rested on Chirrut’s cool, dry one. Chirrut’s hand moved up to the back of Baze’s neck, scritching and scratching the damp hair at his nape.

 

“God, you always smell so _good_. From the beginning, from the moment you first sat across from me, I could barely think, beyond all the things I wanted to _do_ to you. _Still_ want to do to you. Until I’m covered in that scent, all masculine and musky and salty. Hmm, but earthy-sweet, too. Restful and pure, like cinnamon and eight handfuls of fall leaves,” he mused.

 

“I . . . smell like a spicy mulch-pile?” Baze was half-snorting and half-laughing as he said it and Chirrut huffed, pinching Baze’s ass.

 

“You smell like all the _good things_ , you unpoetical dick . . . including mulch-piles, yes,” he agreed, his voice low and defensive, no hint of humor in it. His hand on Baze’s neck was urging him closer again. “I . . . your scent and voice—ye _gods_ , your _voice_ , Baze—have wrapped themselves around me like a fucking boa constrictor, and I find that I can’t focus on anything else for longer than it takes for my mind to wander off to thoughts of you. I just . . . I want to _constantly_ be breathing you in and hearing your voice. I want you all over my skin, even when you’re not touching me. I want the sense-memory of you branded on me and in me so deep and indelible, that it’s like you’re with me, even when you’re not.”

 

Sighing happily as some great, awful, lifelong and thus previously unnoticed, vacuum within him—huge and cavernous and _lonely_ —began to fill with something tentative and humble . . . but also bright and warm and tangible, Baze opened his eyes again. Chirrut’s were closed, his normally smooth brow furrowed slightly, but with elegant and evocative dismay, and wary tension.

 

“You’re one of only two people I’ve ever known who make it impossible for me to be a spectator when it comes to my own feelings. Impossible to sit outside my emotions and observe them . . . then let them go without attachment. The things I’m feeling for you already, after three months of sporadically sharing tables in a café and awkward, terrible, _endearingly_ earnest flirting . . . those aren’t the kinds of feelings I’m used to.” Sighing softly, long and cool through his nose, Chirrut smiled, melancholy and self-deprecating. Almost self- _mocking_. “Nor are they feelings that I . . . am interested in _being_ objectively outside of, or letting go of. _You_ are ten million good things that I want _very much_ to keep and explore for as long as possible, Baze. _And_ you’re a fantastic kisser. You make me greedy and possessive and grasping. Make me hungry to be attached and vulnerable. To be impetuous and open-hearted. And even if it doesn’t work out in the end, in all honesty, I’d rather have and hold you for as long you’re willing to allow, than never have you at all. Even if you _break my heart_ someday . . . even if you break _me_. It’d be _worth it_. _So_ worth it.”

 

After a quiet, but charged minute, Baze let go of Chirrut’s ass and reached up to cup his face in both callused, but tender palms. Chirrut’s eyes fluttered open, shining and surprised and defenseless. That bright, growing warmth seemed to go nova within the former-vacuum at the center of Baze’s being. Yet, it calmed and settled him—made him certain and _determined_ in a way he’d never before experienced. His thumbs caressed Chirrut’s smooth skin and Chirrut took a deep, shaking breath, blinking away some of the shine in his eyes.

 

“Well! Ah, now that I’ve managed to come across as clingy and needy and crazy, I’m thinking you probably wanna run off into the night, screaming,” he quipped with stiff nonchalance. “Movie unseen.”

 

Baze snorted and shrugged. “You kidding me? It’s still mid-afternoon. I can’t run off into the night, screaming, for _at least_ another six hours, so you’re stuck with me till then. Besides which . . . I already bought our tickets. I’m _not_ gonna let ‘em go to waste just ‘cause _you_ got caught up in the Game, playah.”

 

Chirrut blinked. Several times. Then blushed as a slow, wry, sly, _thrilled_ smile curved his tempting lips, causing Baze lick his own lips and moan, when he remembered the taste of Chirrut’s mouth and the tease of his tongue.

 

“Hmm . . . saved by your skinflintery, eh, Malbus?”

 

“Yep. Cheap, complaining bastards, for the win, Îmwe.” Baze leaned his forehead against Chirrut’s and sighed, himself. “And for the record . . . even though it was more crowded than usual, there were still several empty tables available in _Saint Alps_ that day I asked to sit at yours. It’s just that _that day_ was when I . . . finally found the steel to put my detailed plan of _Cozy Up to the Gorgeous Guy with the Beautiful Eyes_ into motion. After eight weeks of staking-out the teahouse _daily_ , in the hopes of seeing him.”

 

Chirrut’s breath, warm and sweet, puffed out on Baze’s face, followed by more puffs when he laughed. “So . . . you low-key stalked me for _two months_ before you had the nerve to chat me up.”

 

“Ah . . . pretty much?”

 

Chirrut’s laughter intensified and he wound both arms around Baze’s neck. “That should be unnerving and a _ginormous_ red-flag, but . . . that’s actually the best news _ever_. I think it even cured my sciatica.”

 

“You _don’t_ have sciatica, Chirrut.”

 

“Not _anymore_ , no. You’re a miracle-worker!” He bobbed up on his toes and kissed Baze again, slow and soft and passionate. “Mmm, and I’m gonna have _so_ much fun trying out my newly-fixed back _and_ showing you how grateful I am for it. _All_ the fun, manly.”

 

Baze let out a shaking breath and laughed, too. “I, uh . . . fair warning: Don’t expect, um, _skillz_? I’ve, uh, never been with a guy, before. . . .”

 

“Oh-Em-Gee, and you’re a _virgin, too_?” Chirrut groaned, soft and longing, pressing his body flush against Baze’s for slow, subtle grinding. “Fuck, how’re you even _real_ , Baze Malbus?”

 

“Hey, now, I’m _not_ a virgin,” Baze insisted lamely and without real vehemence. Chirrut’s expression flickered fast, soft-ravenous-soft.

 

“I have a feeling you _are_ , in all the ways that matter,” he said, gone solemn and somber again. But only for a moment. Then he was kissing Baze once more, short and sweet. “I have a _feeling_ that you’ve been missing out on . . . a lot. But not for much longer. I’m gonna introduce you to some _fun_ things I’ve, er, learned, my groinable friend. And we’re gonna find out even _more_ fun things _together_. I’ll bet you dirty-up _real_ sexy.”

 

Blushing, Baze wound his arms around Chirrut’s waist again. “I dunno about _that_ , but, uh . . . I’ve been told I take direction well. And that I’ve got, um . . . stamina. Plus, I really like . . . I _would like_ to make you feel good. To do whatever it takes for you to not be sorry you . . . took a chance on me.”

 

Another hungry groan and Chirrut clutched at Baze even tighter. “A genuine romantic, _as well as_ a natural sub and possibly a service-top? Damn. _Damn_. I can’t even. This . . . is an embarrassment of riches that will make movie-going impossible. _Completely impossible_ ,” he bemoaned with barely contained glee.

 

“Uh, I have no idea what any of that means, except for the romantic-thing—which I’m really _not_ —but if you’re willing to teach, then I’m willing to learn.”

 

Chirrut leaned back, his brow furrowed in wariness, once more. And consideration. “How do you feel about bottoming, sometimes? I mean, I’m a switch, but I _usually_ prefer to top, and I really, _really_ wanna top _you_ , like, yesterday.”

 

“Um . . . whuh?”

 

“I wanna _fuck_ you, Baze. I _really_ wanna fuck you,” Chirrut growled, hoarse and dangerous, his upper atmosphere-blue eyes heated and intense, for all that they were unseeing. Baze flushed and bit his bottom lip, smiling crookedly.

 

“Ohhhh,” he said, then chuckled and stopped fighting the powerful urge to thrust his hips into Chirrut’s. Then _Baze_ was the one to hum happily when Chirrut swore, and returned the thrusts harder and sharper, with obviously fraying control and dizzying aggression. “Okay. _Yeah_. That, uh . . . that sounds like . . . _yeah_. No one’s ever . . . well, I guess you already figured _that_ out. But I’d, um . . . I’d let you do _anything_ to me, Chirrut. And I’d come back for _more_ just as soon as I could hobble to you.”

 

“Wow. You’re killin’ me, Baze. Just . . . _killin’_ me.” Chirrut pouted, but he sounded happy, too, his hips gentling into a steadier, more measured rhythm. But the next kisses he stole were voracious and uncoordinated and enthusiastic. “I dunno how we’re gonna get through _Topper_ without exploring my exhibitionist tendencies—have you ever gotten a clandestine handjob in public? It’s . . . exhilarating.”

 

“ _Fuck_ ,” Baze groaned, nuzzling Chirrut’s temple and hair, then kissing his way down to the elegant but determined line of his jaw. “Wait—how long _is_ this flick, anyway?”

 

“Ninety minutes or so.”

 

“Nope. Too long. Far too long.”

 

“It’s a _fucking fabulous_ movie, though! A classic! Roland Young, Cary Grant, Billie Burke. . . .”

 

“I . . . dunno who those people are and I kinda don’t care at the moment. . . ?”

 

“ _Blasphemy_ ,” Chirrut hitched out as Baze’s hands clenched on his hips and those kisses turned into biting nips of his neck. “Y-You’re an uncultured _Philistine_ , B-Baze Malbus. An incandescently _hot_ one, but still. . . .”

 

“I’ve never given a blowjob before, but . . . I _really_ wanna get my mouth around you _so badly_. . . .”

 

Chirrut made a surprised squawk like a crow that’d been punched in the dick. Assuming crows even _had_ . . . Baze reined his mind in and nuzzled the hollow, fragrant junction between Chirrut’s shoulder, neck, and collar bone.

 

“I wanna taste you all over. More than anything. I’ll bet you taste _so_ good,” he decided, his voice stripped of anything but sincerity and need . . . which turned into tight, iron-control. “But I’ve waited this long. I can wait another couple of hours. And no, I’m _not_ getting on my knees for the first time on a gross movie theater-floor.” Baze kept his voice firm in the face of pouty noises and intensely arousing grinding. Getting even more lost, in Chirrut’s lilies-incense-musk scent and salty-sweet taste, was . . . no longer a matter of _if_ , but _when_. And the answer was, _not much longer at all_. “When I get my mouth on you—when I take you as deep as I can manage—I _don’t_ wanna have to worry about sticky floors, random ushers, other movie-goers, keeping quiet, and possibly going to jail. I want _you_ to be free to come _so_ hard and shout my name so _loud,_ the fucking sky caves in.”

 

Chirrut made that crow-noise again, clinging extra-close, one hand dropping to Baze’s ass again to squeeze, all unequivocal ownership and ravening promise.

 

“Okay, so, you maybe wanna get outta here, and come back to my place? I can _guarantee_ I’ll make the cost of the tickets up to you like a _BOSS_ ,” he murmured, rough and urgent. Baze shivered.

 

“ _Yeah_ , that’s—wait . . . what about, uh, Roland Grant? And Billie Young?”

 

“Manly, _no_ , it’s _not_ . . . ugh. Such a savage. But there’ll be time to culture you up, later. _After_ I’ve corrupted your innocence and made you walk funny,” Chirrut said firmly. Baze smirked and kiss-nipped his way up to Chirrut’s pouty mouth, lingering just outside their next kiss to murmur.

 

“That _does_ sound like a more productive and pleasant way to spend an afternoon, but . . . I dunno. . . .”

 

“Ah, c’mon . . . don’t stop being cheap and easy _now_ , hot-stuff!” And saying that, Chirrut recaptured Baze’s mouth decisively, with a lascivious, demanding stroke of his tongue.

 

“ _Cheap_?” Baze gasped when Chirrut let him up for air. “Those tickets ran me seventeen-fifty! I was trying to make a favorable impression, jerk!”

 

“And you _did_ , big-spender. Mission-fucking-accomplished, okay? So, let’s _am-scray_ , huh? I am,” Chirrut laughed, ragged and strained, mid-sentence, even as he ground against Baze twice as hard and thrice as insistently. He “gazed” up into Baze’s face with wide, dazed eyes. “Fuck, I’ve literally _never_ been this hard and desperate for _anyone_ in my life. I feel like I might die—actually _die_ , Malbus—if I don’t get to come in, on, or in proximity to you _soon_ , and at least several more times before sundown.”

 

“Huh. Well, I _would_ hate it if you died before you made good on your promise to deflower innocent, little me.”

 

“Aaaaand even _that_ boner-killer of a euphemism sounds unbearably _sexy_ when _you_ say it. _Fuck_ , you are . . . _impossible_ and perfect!”

 

“Then _deflower me_ , Chirrut,” Baze rumbled, half-command, half-plea. Chirrut shivered in his arms once more and grinned, dopey and toothy. “ _Fuck me_.”

 

A third crow-squawk, followed by the most wanton groan Baze had ever heard, then he was chuckling as Chirrut dragged him down the street by his wrist—in the opposite direction Baze had come to the cinema—single-minded and resolute in his leadership. _Especially_ for a blind guy.

 

“Uh . . . you _do_ know where we’re going, right?” Baze asked, a bit worried, but mostly amused. Chirrut laughed, bright and light, his hand loosening to slide down to Baze’s, linking their fingers shyly, but intimately.

 

“Sure, I do, manly. Or maybe I _don’t_. One of those. Both of those. Neither. Whatever.” Chirrut shrugged, blithe and unconcerned, their fingers tightening around each other simultaneously. “I’m going there with _you_ , and that’s all that matters.”

 

Smiling and blushing and pleased— _warm_ , but for once, not feeling gross because of it—Baze let himself be tugged along in Chirrut’s unstoppable wake without reservation or hesitation.

 

(Though he _did_ have to slow Chirrut’s mono-focused roll at two separate crosswalks to keep them from getting turned into street-pizza by oncoming traffic. And he would have to do so _frequently_ , repeatedly, in the future. In the happy, horny, _handsy_ days, weeks, months, and years ahead.)

 

And though they _did_ get to Chirrut’s airy-spacious place in short order, Baze never did manage to ferret-out their _ultimate_ destination from his partner. But that was fine. As long as Chirrut was willing to take Baze along for the ride—as companionship, entertainment, common sense, comfort, protection, or even just a second pair of eyes—wherever his beautiful, big, adventurous, _wise_ heart lead, then Baze would always, ever-after, follow. And he’d never count himself as less than the luckiest man in the entire galaxy.

 

END

**Author's Note:**

> Littleleotas’ prompt: _how about them commentating on something they're watching together, like tv or a film_
> 
> Thank you, my wonderful new friend. Hope you enjoyed it <3
> 
> [beetle on the Tumbles](http://beetle-ships-it-all.tumblr.com)!


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